


let it snow

by sparklings



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: -ish?? meaning it doesn't really matter but they're students, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Christmas, M/M, One Night Stands, Snowed In, Two Night Stand (2014), actually pre-christmas!! but who cares, also some mentions of pot because why the hell not, but ooops it's a blizzard, henry's pov, multichapter bc god do we need some more multichapter fics here, mutual annoyance to lovers to friends, some mentions of alcohol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21804922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklings/pseuds/sparklings
Summary: Two days before his flight for Christmas takes off, a series of wine-induced choices gets Henry into Alex’s apartment right before the blizzard of the century.Based on the movie “Two Night Stand” (2014).
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz & June Claremont-Diaz, Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Percy "Pez" Okonjo, June Claremont-Diaz/Percy "Pez" Okonjo
Comments: 35
Kudos: 109





	1. Friday, December 20th.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About red wine, Ashley Tisdale's "Last Christmas", teddy bears, and Tinder profiles. And Alexander Claremont-Diaz, obviously.

**Education:** NYU Philosophy major.

Well, not exactly true. Henry bites into the inside of his cheek, moves his foot stretched across the sofa’s armrest to the rhythm of Ashley Tisdale’s take on _Last Christmas_ he often finds himself gravitating towards while slightly tipsy, and reconsiders.

**Education:** Ex-NYU Philosophy major. Pre-Law on a gap year. 

Not exactly true, either. But better. Casual, with just a hint of poshness. He hits the preview on his profile and his brow furrows. Definitely too long. Makes him look like he’s trying too hard, which he definitely is not. 

**Education:** NYU. 

Perfect. No need to overdo it. He scrolls down through blank windows. “Job title”? Maybe one day. “Company”? Nope. “Living in”? He just allowed Tinder to use his location, didn’t he? “Don’t show my age”? Who in the devil would ever need that one? 

Henry shifts his body in a concerning angle to reach for the bottle of red wine from the floor and raises his upper parts just enough not to choke on his huge gulp. This app is already starting to feel itchy, and he hasn’t even made a single swipe yet. He puts the bottle back down and his head falls back on the sofa, when the front door opens. 

“Mate.” Pez sends him a disapproving stare the moment he notices him. “This literally looks as if you hadn’t twitched since I left.”

Pez is fully dressed, sharp silver suit and a turquoise shirt, curly hair nicely trimmed and wide dark eyes covered with glittery eyeshadow, back from a conference on one of his endless passion projects. Henry loves him, more than he’d ever think he could love anyone who’s known him back in Eton, but right now, watching him stand there all pretty and judgemental, such contrast to Henry’s greasy hair, old sweatpants and fluffy Christmas socks, he kind of wants to throw the wine bottle at him. 

“Excuse you, I have moved,” Henry says, not even lifting his head. He puts his phone down and stares at the ceiling. “I have walked all the way to the door and back once my falafels came.”

“You spent another day on the couch, not even bothering to scrap a plate of pasta this time,” Pez muffles, crossing to the armchair facing Henry. “And I’m not even surprised. And this, my dear, is a sign that your habits are becoming concerning.”

Henry sits up to look at his flatmate with as much dignity as he can gather. 

“I’m allowed to have feelings, Percy, and deal with them as I find appropriate.”

“You absolutely do” Pez rests his elbows on the coffee table between them and leans forward to face Henry. “But it’s been a month since you’re single, and some seven rereads of _Northanger Abbey_ since you’re a sad, purposeless human shell. Jobless, may I add.”

Henry mirrors Pez movements, which puts their faces a tad too close, and goes for the same serious tone.

“I’m working on it.”

“You’re not-” Pez stops, and his nose wrinkles. He gives Henry a half-smirk. “Is that bloody red I’m smelling?” he asks, and then he laughs jovially and springs up to walk to the kitchen. 

“What?” Henry calls after him “It’s Friday!”

“It’s Friday 5 PM!” Pez laughs, yanking the cupboard door open. “This is great, actually. Pajama days, red wine, food delivered under your nose. Some lovely life you’re living.”

“If you must know,” Henry says. “I spent some solid hours on a job hunt. And, having found nothing appealing, sadly, I decided to take care of other aspect of my misery.”  
  


“You applied for your Masters?” Pez drops, unimpressed. 

There’s a gulp in Henry’s throat, but red wine pushes the next sentence through it: “I joined Tinder.”

Pez drops the pack of Earl Grey he’s been holding and freezes by the counter, staring at Henry, his smile growing so wide it takes up half of his face in a second. 

“No fucking way.”

“Well,” Henry offers, instantly regretting every single decision he’s made for the last twelve hours. “I. Might have been drunkish when I did that-”

“No! No, no, no, you poodle,” Percy resumes making tea, now half a bit faster. “Don’t you dare gobble around it. This is good. This is terrific,” He vigorously pours milk in two cups resembling Christmas stockings. “This? Might be the singular best decision you made since I’ve met you.”

Henry blinks, not certain how to proceed. “Thank you, I suppose. I did decide to move here with you, though, so you might want to show some more appreciation for that one.”

“Oh, one truly brilliant idea,” Pez chuckles, getting the cups from the counter and starting back to the sofa. “Drop everything you know and move to the country you hate for the degree you don’t even care about just to see your family twice a year less. Nope” He moves Henry’s legs to the floor, causing him to almost fall from the couch, and takes a seat by him. “That was you being pathetic. _This_ ” he points at the phone between them. “This is you actually taking charge of your life. In your own, semi-active way.”

“Why do I feel like you’re overreacting?” Henry takes a careful sip from the cup he was offered. 

“Cause you’re drunk,” Pez flashes him a bright smile. “Come on. I know it’s not very you, but it’s about time. You definitely need your dick sucked.”

Henry makes a show of choking on his earl grey to buy himself some time to think of an answer to that, and, maybe, to hide some embarrassment, but then a female voice cuts in with “Do you guys need a minute? I can come back later,” and his theatrical coughs become authentic. 

“Hi, babe,” Pez promptly ignores his desperate gasps for air. “‘been standing there long?”

“Not too long, luckily for all of us,” the girl drops her baby blue coat on the armchairs and throws her arms around Pez’s neck, resting her chin on the tip of his head so that her eyes are almost on the same height as Henry’s. “Is Henry getting laid?”

“Hi, June,” Henry offers, breathing heavily and clutching to his cup for dear life. He only gets a honey-sweet smile and raised brows as a response, making it known he should answer. “I joined Tinder today.”

“Oh my God, baby, that’s awesome news!” June exclaims. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Honestly-”

“ _I’m_ sure _I’m_ ready for you to be ready,” Pez cuts in before he can finish. “You need to get back to live. You know, maybe you should tag along tonight.”

“You totally should!” June picks up the idea, and Henry takes the stare off her bright face to the bottle of red on the floor.”

“What’s the cake situation?” he asks, trying not to sound hopelessly disinterested. 

“It’s a birthday party,” June goes on, her voice soaked with amusement as if she just had an epiphany. “The birthday boy is twenty one, a real teddy bear - sweet, kind, pretty, head stuffed with plush, negative IQ score. A perfect one night stand. The space is booked seat per person, but my brother’s ditching so you can jump into his spot.”

June’s brother. Henry’s stomach tangles embarrassingly. 

“Alex’s not coming?” he asks, doing his best to sound casual. 

“Nope,” June says. “He likes to occasionally remind people that he’s a huge ass nerd who studies at Christmas. So you can totally cut in, he won’t mind.”

Henry isn’t so certain - from what little he had listened to Alex talk, he learned that there must be very few things Alex doesn’t mind. He’s always going about things that need either an improvement (NYC public transportation, American healthcare, Star Wars’ soundtracks) or an extinction (racism, university tuition fees, monarchy), though most of the time, nobody asks, and he generally seems to be annoyed a lot. Especially when he needs to acknowledge Henry’s presence - this, somehow, seems to never fail to unnerve him. Henry can’t imagine a valid reason for it, but he’s seen enough of this aversion in their interactions to phantom that Alex will not be over the moon with having his spot taken by Henry, even if he didn’t plan to make use of it anyway. 

Which, if he were to be honest, is exactly why some two hours and two glasses of wine later he changes into a button up shirt and dress pants, combs his hair, throws his phone into his coat’s pocket and joins June and Pez.

❅❅❅

In the uber to the club Henry has to admit to himself that he is a tiny bit disappointed that he’s not seeing Alex tonight. Not that he thought he might be seeing him tonight - he definitely did not plan leaving the apartment under any circumstances, and once he did, it was solely on the premise of Alex _not_ being where he’s going. It’s just that, June mentioned him - and Henry’s mind immediately offered an image of brown curls, and sparkling brown eyes, and white sleeves pulled up strong forearms, and a chin dimple, and, well. Henry hasn’t seen those since October, and he’s just thinking. It wouldn’t be absolutely terrible to see Alex. 

It wouldn’t feel good to see him, either. It never quite is - Alex would most probably monopolise every discussion he’s in, make some very controversial comments as if they were absolutely obvious, befriend eleven people who aren’t Henry, and then ditch each of them half sentence to go bump his arse to some early 2000s travesty. He’s always so fucking loud and intimidating, Henry has no idea how to act around him. Which doesn’t change the fact that he feels somewhat _drawn_ to him, that there’s a part of him that wants to stay around Alex, and just stand in close proximity in all of his awkward masochism. Henry really despites that part. 

Henry’s not an idiot, though - he knows that he’s been attracted to Alex since the second he first saw him. Maybe longer, actually. He has this vague memory of getting drunk with Pez in the middle of the week, right after he met June for the first time when she was writing an article about him for the New York Times, and asking if she by any chance has a brother, and if so, is he by any chance gay. It wasn’t about Alex back then - it was about June being very pretty, sweet and a perfect match for Pez, and about Henry being lonely, and freshly out of another crappy relationship, and jealous. Still, then it turned out that June actually has a brother, and this brother happens to look just like her and share none of her other qualities, except for calamitous heterosexuality. A truly Shakespearean, however brutal, irony that didn’t stop Henry’s breath from catching every time Alex is mentioned. 

“Hen?” Pez throws him back into reality. “Do pause your sad music video and share a thought with the class.”

Henry blinks twice and looks away from the rain drops on the car window. “I really wish we had white Christmas this year.”

“It’s 46 degrees,” the Uber driver offers.

“I have no idea what the fuck that means.”

Anyway, Henry hasn’t seen Alex since June’s birthday party in October and, he realises with dread, he kind of misses the agony of being in one room with him. Not that this means anything, truly. Alex probably doesn’t even remember his name - he has way too many things to do and people to meet to bother remembering his sister’s boyfriend’s awkward flatmates, Henry can easily tell from his Instagram profile. Which he doesn’t follow. He just takes a quick look at it every now and again. For absolutely no reason at all. But still, Alex’s company would be appreciated. He would probably go on some tirade about American history or presidency of George fucking Bush, junior or senior, or other war criminal Henry has very limited idea about, and Henry could just stand there and listen. Because there is something about Alex that makes every single topic he chooses captivating. He’s just that easily charismatic. Or cute.

_Cute_ , good Lord. Henry’s drunk. 

If he’s drunk enough to refer to Alexander Claremont-Diaz as _cute_ , even if only to himself, he definitely is drunk enough to stumble on his way out of the Uber. Also, drunk enough to have to cling to Pez’s forearm to steady himself on the way from the car to the club’s entrance. Drunk enough to ignore June’s jokes about his pre-drinks habits, and even drunk enough to laugh at some. Drunk enough to come up to the club security person and whisper something about crashing the teddy bear’s party. 

And, surprisingly, not quite sober enough to get in. 

“‘Scuse me?”

“One, he literally just told me he’s trying to crash.” Security guy says to June, promptly enjoying Henry, who’s very confused and, apparently, also holding his elbow. “He’s not on the list, and he’s not even trying to hide it. And two, even if he was, he’s fucking hammered.”

“‘M not mmered,” Henry shakes his head, clutching security guy’s elbow tighter. “‘M just like this. You know, mate. English.”

“I’m not letting him in.” 

Which is why, after some very blurry attempt to negotiate, (“What if I paid you 50 bucks?” “Drop it, dude.” “Okay, how about I’ll grab a coffee with you tomorrow?” “Please leave before I have to nine one one you.”), Henry’s sitting back in an Uber June got for him, with the exact same driver, who’s enjoying this way too much. 

He gets another bottle of red in his local convenience store and collapses back on the couch as soon as he enters. He stares numbly in the void for a second, thinking about his options for the evening, when his phone buzzes. 

A Tinder notification. Well. Henry almost forgot. A message from a Kyle. God, he really had to get drunker than he thought if he swiped right somebody named Kyle. He promptly ignores the “waddup” he got, but doesn’t seem to close the app.. 

It’s been long, and Henry’s drunk enough to admit he’s horny, so, though still hesitant and unconvinced, he gives this Tinder thing a chance. A twenty four years old wanna be rapper. An army boy. Somebody who claims he’s twenty one but definitely is not. The guy Henry made out with at an inauguration party last year. A solid gulp of wine. One cute guy with in round glasses and a blue sweater. Henry smiles slightly and reads the bio. Biology student, comic book fan. He can work with that. He closes the to look through the pictures and- well. The guy is dressed in an opossum costume in the third pic. Well. A gulp of wine. A swipe left - furries make him feel very uneasy. A bare chest with no bio. A gulp of wine. An Instagram influencer with a classic gym mirror shot. A gulp of wine. Somebody named Steven who uses pics of this young French Oscar nominee. A gulp of wine. A poorly masked marijuana dealer. A gulp of wine. A- _holy fuck_.

Henry sits up so rapidly the movement makes a bit of wine splash out of the bottle, and stares at the phone as if it had just bitten him. This can’t be it. Henry has never been a spiritual one but if he’s seeing it right, this must be some kind of shady higher power pulling his leg. He locks the phone. Puts it down. Takes another sip of wine. Drums his nails on the table. Laughs to himself. Shakes his head. Takes a breath. Puts up his phone again. Stares at the dark screen. Unlocks it. 

Yep, still there. A smiling selfie in the sun. Brown skin and white polo, smile wide, eyes squinted. A chin dimple. Alex, 21. NYU. 

Henry’s heart is beating out of his chest when he looks through the photos. There he is: Alex at a debating competition, Alex in a hurried mirror shot in an elevator, Alex with June by some water body, Alex in a blurry party selfie. His bio reads just: “on my way from texas sweetheart to america’s favorite. what’s your fav star wars movie”.

There are. So many questions in Henry’s head. He takes a deep, shaking breath and swipes right before his anxious, wine drunk brain can provide any answers, and then his heartbeat stops for an instant because the screen goes baby pink and fancy Tiner font announces: It’s a match!


	2. Saturday, December 21st.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About hangovers, hookup culture, smiley pancakes, and doors that refuse to cooperate.

Henry wakes up, and immediately regrets that he did. 

His head feels so heavy it’s almost as if it was being very painfully hammered into the pillow, his stomach is tangled, and franky, he feels his insides might be rotting. It surely stinks as if they did. He takes a second to think about what day it is and wether he’s already late for his flight home, but can’t figure, so he reaches for his phone.

Only, his nightstand isn’t there. Henry opens his eyes and blinks a few times before his vision clears, to find a room he can swear he’s never seen in his life. 

Pale blue walls, door of dark wood, a desk covered with a mess of papers that very clearly indicates its not Henry’s, a cork board above it. He stares in the space for a while without shifting, suddenly aware that the matress beneath him feels definitely softer than his own, before he finds a crumble of clothes on the floor, incuding his very own pants. The sights reminds him that he’s almost naked, only in his fully unbuttoned shirt.

Last night comes back to him in a flash. 

  
  


**Henry** : “The Return of the Jedi.”

 **Alex:** what

 **Henry:** About yout bio. It sys “What is you favurite Star wArs Movie”?

 **Alex:** yeah no i got that part 

**Alex:** it’s just 

**Alex:** what the fuck man 

**Alex:** that is so wrong

 **Henry:** So that was a trick quest

 **Henry:** on?

 **Alex:** sure was 

**Alex:** i don’t sleep with people who don’t give empire the appreciation it deserves 

Oh, this is bad. 

This is very singularly bad. Henry takes a breath and braces himself to turn on the bed so that he can face whatever awaits him on the other side, with as little noise involved as humanly possible. 

And of course, there he is. And he looks so peaceful, Henry wouldn’t think that this hyperactive ball of anger has the physical ability to ever look like this. Brown curls fall freely on his forehead, his lips are slightly pouted, thick, long eyelashes rest on his golden cheeks, which, just like his nose, are covered with tiny freckles. Henry never noticed Alex had freckles, but now that he gets to look at them, that seems to be so obvious. He lets his heavy eyelids for a moment and just lies there for a second or two, listening to Alex’s soft snores. 

Oh, this is _bad_. 

**Henry:** Well/

 **Henry:** Tgat’s a shame then

 **Alex:** unless…. 👀

 **Alex:** is that where ur going 

**Henry:** No!!!!!!

 **Henry:** That is, I didn’t really plan it thar far ahead.

 **Henry:** Do you think you would want to sl

 **Henry:** Im sorry, i was delteing it and didn’t ean to send itl.

 **Alex:** no please do finish 

**Alex:** or u know what forget it 

**Alex** : listen

 **Alex** : it’s friday night almost christmas and i’m home alone 

**Alex** : cuz im an idiot 

**Alex** : at times 

**Alex** : why won’t you come over 

**Alex** : and idk we’ll see where it goes 

**Alex** : we can even watch the jedi

 **Alex** : so i can point out every flaw to u 

**Alex** : jk

 **Alex** : or am i 

**Alex** : anyway 

**Alex** : what do u say

Henry absolutely cannot stay. It’s bad enough that he even is here in the first place, that he’s _been here_ for the _entire_ night, that he- nope, he’s not going to think about it now. He gathers all his physical, and mental, though he hates to admit that this one, too, strenght, and forces himself out of Alex’s bed. He fishes his clothing from the crumble, and sits on the floor to put it on, because he’s certain that if he tried to do this standing up, he would absolutely get tangled in his own pants, and then his escape plans would all go to shit. His head is spinning, and his stomach seems to be begging him to put the head in a toilet bowl, but he manages to find his phone, the only possession he brought here, and makes his way to the door without a single trip. 

He stops to take a one last look at Alexander Claremont-Diaz, as he is absolutely sure he will do all in his power to never see him again, and pulls the door handle. 

Nothing. Henry’s certain Alex was already drunk when he came in last night, but it’s good to know he was reasonable enough to lock the door. He spots the lock above, turns it slowly to avoid the loud crack that locks like to make when they're absolutely not supposed to, and then hears a single vague _beep_ . The door is still closed, and Henry steps back to examine it. Another _beep_ , this time a little more firm, and he understands: a warning for the burglar to step way. He turned on the alarm.

Henry’s mind shuts down in an instant. The last thing he needs after drunkenly stumbling into Alex’s apartment is for him to wake up to Henry by his front door, obviously trying to sneak out, and failing. So, before he can think of what he’s doing, he rushes back to the bed, stripping of all of his clothes on his way. When the alarm fully goes off and Alex frowns and opens his eyes, Henry’s naked again, tugged under the duvet, and pretending to be waking up.

**Henry:** Hm.

 **Henry:** How do I know you;re nit a psychopath/

 **Henry:**?

 **Alex:** guess theres one way for u to find out babe ;)

 **Henry:** I wanted to day “that’s what a psychoppth would say”, but it’s definitelu not.

 **Alex:** ;)))))

 **Alex:** dropping u my location 

**Henry:** Google Maos says i;; be there in 2 to 5working says

 **Alex:** well that’s a lot of working says 

**Alex:** do u need an uber

 **Henry:** Oh no not uber 

**Henry:** My local uber hates me 

**Alex:** u mean the car

 **Henry:** What 

**Henry:** Anyway, I’m on my way.

  
  


“Um,” Henry says, trying to sound sleepy. “What’s happening?”

“‘M being robbed,” Alex murmurs, burying his head in the pillow. “Hope they’re not homophobic. Don’t want to start the day with a beating.”

“Are you serious?” Henry says, trying to sound surprised. “Oh my God, should I call the police?”

“Dunno,” Alex sights heavily. “Lemmecheck.”

He climbs out of bed and walks to the door, smooth muscles flexing under brown skin, as if walking around naked was his default setting. Which it is, actually, at least historically and Biblically speaking, but Henry cannot not be in awe of how comfortable Alex appears to be with not a single cloth on him, with a stranger in his house. Also, he looks incredibly good like this. Henry truly tries not to stare, but it’s getting harder each moment. 

Another thing that’s getting harder each moment? Nope, not gonna think about it.

“And?” Henry asks, when the alarm finally tunes out, and the throbbing in his head goes a little easier on him

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I killed them all.”

Henry twitches in the bed nervously, watching Alex casually walk back towards him.

“Well. Good thing I’m pre-law,” he stummers, like an absolute idiot. “I’ll get you out.”

“Not such a thing as a bad moment to brag, right?” Alex climbs back under the duvet and rests on his elbow, tilting his head a little and looking at him. “Morning, Henry.”

“Good morning, Alec,” Henry says, for some reason, and he wants to kick himsef in the face the moment that escapes his mouth.

“Actually, it’s Alex,” Alex corrects him, unbothered. “Alexander. You know, like this dude from the musical.”

“Ah, sure,” Henry says, because that’s the only thing he can get through several layers of embarassment and self-loathing.

“I was named after him, actually,” Alex continues, voice still a bit hoerse. “Hamilton. Not the musical one, obviously. Pretty wack decision, if you ask me. I only like his political drive.”

“Mhm, that’s super interesting,” Henry says, with zero idea how to proceed with Alex’s face so close to his own, with his eyes so shamelessly fixed on his face.

“It is, isn’t it?” Alex offers him a small smile. “Sugarcoat it a little when you tell our grandkids how you found out about this.”

Yup, that will do it. Henry needs to get out right now. 

“I. Yeah, will surely do,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t give away how startled he is. “I, kind of must run, actually. So,” He clears his throat. “Thank you, Alexander. I had fun. Very. And, erh, I suppose I’ll see you around?”

“Oh, bummer,” Alex says, still shamelessly watching Henry as he untangles from the sheets. “Didn’t take you for a fleer.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s just, you know. Since you already stayed the night, I thought we could have breakfast. I happen to make the best smiley face pankeys on this side of Hudson.”

“Oh.” Nope. Nonono, absolutely no. There’s only so much Henry can take, and playing house with Alex is so very far out of line. “Well, that’s truly kind of you. However-” Henry swipes his boxers on.

“Sure, I get it,” Alex makes a show of sitting up, making it known how much effort it costs him. “The hookup culture got you, that’s not your fault.”

“What do you mean, _the hookup culture_?”

“You know. Meet, fuck, flee, dehumanizingly ghost, never see again. This kind of stuff.”

“ _What do you-”_ Henry starts, realises he sounds way too emotional, starts again. He starts putting his clothes on as to stay occupied with something other than looking at Alex.“I told you yesterday, I don’t do these things.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Alex flashes him a mischievous smile from the pillow. “Me neither. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not _fine_ ,” Henry knows he should probably smile and nod, but he cannot stand the thought of Alex seeing him as some soulless fuckboy. Only because it’s so far away from the truth. “I explicitly stated yesterday that I don’t do much of, well, _that_ . Why are you talking to me as if you knew I had a bloody _system_ for it?”

“Sweetheart, we met on Tinder,” Alex swipes his boxers up. “Really, nobody’s judging you, and I’m way too hungover to deal with this _pro forma_ bullshit-”

“Yet I do feel pretty judged right now! You clearly have a presumption about me that is neither true, nor justifiable-”

“Oh, man, can’t you just let it g-”

“And I do not appreciate the way you’re dealing with it. So I’m sorry if my decision to spend the night with you already paints an unflattering picture of me, but please stay reminded that there was a second party involved.”

Henry stops, and the room is quiet for a bit. Alex must have stood up sometime during his outburst, and now they’re facing each other from different sides of the bed - Henry fully clothed, Alex just in his underwear.

“You’re done? Cool. Awesome.” Alex massages his temples, sights deeply, and starts his way to the front door. “I really enjoy how you throw a fit about being _judged_ while you get so offended by somebody thinking you might be having casual sex as if there was anything wrong with people who do that. Really cute look on you. For the record, I don’t really think you do that a lot. I could tell you don’t do that a lot, actually.”

“Excuse me?” Henry shrieks, following him, and he can feel another semi-voluntary tirade building up.

“Please don’t start-”

“You weren’t really complaining last night, were you?”

“I kinda thought it would be awkward to tell you?” Alex curves his lips in the most sarcastic smile Henry’s ever gotten, as he fumbles with the lock. “You know, given the circumstances.”

“Well. Then, we are both glad to be partying ways.”

“Oh, I was more than ready to part before you lost consciousness in my bed, you know,” Alex says, yanking the door wide open.

“I- Ekhm,” Henry bites down whatever he was going to say again, and clears his throat. “Goodbye, Alec. Merry Christmas.”

“You know my name,” he hears behind him as he crosses through the doorway. “Happy New Year.”

The door falls shut behind him with a loud crash, and Henry presses the elevator button, but decides to use the stars immediately after. He doesn’t even remember what floor he’s at, but the higher, the better - he could really use to get some energy out. 

He’s furiours, and he's feeling it raise with every thump he makes. Furious at Alex, obviously, because how can someone so dreamy be such a pretentious asshole? And, more importantly, how does this level of teasing, cheeky, shameless, judgemental attitude did not make him any less attractive? Being assumed to be a devoid of conscience fuckboy by someone you barely know? Annoying. Being assumed to be a devoid of conscience fuckboy by someone you barely know _and yet_ are insufferably, unwaveringly attracted to? A fucking calamity. A parade of auto-disappointment. A self-esteem armageddon. 

Henry’s also quite furious at himself. At every single decision he has ever made in his enitre life, to be frank. Particularly for the last three years or so. But definitely for the last, what was it, 18 hours? Who the fuck does that. Who gets wine drunk to creating a Tinder profile, tries to crash a party, fails, gets even more drunk, swipes right the most irritating crush of his lifetime, _matches with him_ , and then _text him_ about fucking Star Wars? And then comes over to his apartment, and _has casual sex with him_ ? And them throws a tantrum in the morning becuase of, what even _was it_ , actually? How little of self-preservation instincts one must have to-

Oh, and also. What the fuck did Alex mean _we met on Tinder_ ? Does he really not remember Henry? They met at least four different times before last night. They spoke on at least two occasions. Who does he think he is, giving Henry a blowjob, calling him a sweetheart, inviting him for fucking _smiley pancakes_ , and then admitting to not remembering him? That is, Henry kind of mispronounced his name before, to be fair, but it doesn’t change the fact that-

Henry rushes into the door and pushes on it, and then lets out a loud groan when they don’t move. He steps back, looking for a sign. It reads “Push”. He pushes again. Nothing. He pulls the handle, just to make sure. Nothing. He looks through the tiny window to see a huge snowdrift covering the door at least half of its height. He stares at it dumbly, totally at loss of ideas, feeling his head getting heavier each moment, when somewhere, the elevator beeps, and he can hear a familiar voice coming his way. 

“Okay, so imagine waking up to a golden, sun-kissed angel- No, you dickhead, the angel is me. Yes, I’m the angel. So, you wake up next to one, cute dimples, soft morning voice, promise of smiley face pancakes, and what?” Alex surfaces from around the corner, MIT T-shirt, sweatpants, a phone in one hand, and a laundry basket in the other.” You flee? Seriously, how far does the stick have to go up your a-” he notices Henry by the door, stops, and cuts mid-sentence. “Mum, I’ll call you back.”

Henry doesn’t say a word, not trusting his mouth one yota, while Alex disconnects, and gives him a tired stare.

“What is it?” he takes a look at the door. “Oh, obviously,” he rolls his eyes, and moves to put the laundry basket on the floor and push at the door, not shutting up for a bit. “Too much snow for Your Highness’s liking? Fucking Britons. I’d say you guys are fucking pussies but I’m a feminist- What the fuck.”

Alex moves a step back, shoots one more glance at the door, and tries again. 

“No. No fucking way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go folks, i wrote it in three hours and didn't even check the spelling tbh so i'm probably going to edit it a loT in the future but here we go nonetheless because i really enjoyed writing this one and i want to sharE
> 
> again, let me know what you think and go!! watch!! the! movie!! at this point i'm sure i'm overselling it but i really don't want them to sue me you know  
> '


	3. Saturday, December 21st. Still.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About terrible news, bathrooms, multimillionarie flatmates, and Alex's brilliant ideas. Also, there's pot in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long, turns out being home for holidays is more absorbing that i thought

The smiley face on the pancake is straight up mocking him. It’s probably not possible to make a jelly smile look dersive on purpose, but Henry’s hungover, tired, and drowning in regrets, and he would actually bet the $3.76 he found in his coat he ddin't get to use that Alex has his ways. 

“Folks, hopefully you’re not one of the seventy one thousands New Yorkers and tourists who had a Christmas trip of sorts planned for today, because if you are, I’m sorry to inform you that it just got cancelled,” the voice from Alex’s phone announces, way too cheerfully. “As of 12.17 p.m., all Subway lines are closed, most of the streets are unusable, and the snow keeps snowing. So, heat some milk up, download some movies, and get cosy. It’s going to be a long weekend.”

“I brought it on myself,” Henry says, aggressively plundging the breakfast knife right between the jelly eyes. “This is my penance.”

“Woah, man,” Alex flashes him a stare from the other side of the table. “This is officially the worst review my pancakes received.”

Henry sends him a grim glare. 

“This?” he gestures around the room with the fork. “This is my punishment for slutting around,” he points the fork at Alex. “With a man, on top of that.”

“So you think God paralised an entire megacity to punish you for actively pursuing the gay path?”

“God? Hell no,” Henry swallows, and chases it with a gulp of water. “It was my grandmother. I just don’t know how exactly.”

Alex chuckles at that. “Right,” he mumbles, mouth stuffed with pancakes. “That makes sense,” which provokes another deadly stare from Henry. He swallows, and continues. “Alright. Listen. It looks like we’re not getting out of here for another 24 hours, and I, for one, would rather not spend it in awkward silence,” Alex puts his hands on the table and looks at Henry. “How about we just pretend last night didn’t happen? No uncomfortable post-sex vibes. No bitchy almighty grandmothers.”

And Henry would really, really love to consider that, but he only manages to keep Alex’s stare for a single second, before his stomach tangles with embarassment again.

“I’m sorry, where’s the loo?”

  
❅❅❅  
  


“Pez, you have to get me out of here,” Henry whispers to his phone once he’s safely locked inside Alex’s bathroom.

“As much as I’d love to have you heavily indebted to me for the rest of our lives, there is nothing I can do,” comes the answer from the other end of the call, and Henry really wishes he could just flush himself out of here through the toilet bowl.

“Come on. Why can’t you just helicopter mi out of here?”

“I could probably do that,” Pez says, consideration in his voice so fake it's almost offensive. “If it wasn’t the blizzard of the century, which it is, obviously, and if I were sure that it’s legal, which I am also not. But I probably wouldn’t either way.”

“So that’s your plan? Let me die here?” Henry knows he’s embarrassing himself a little, but he really can't think of anything better, and he’s really desperate, and to be fair, after last night, there’s probably nothing he can do to make himself look more pathetic than he already does.

“Have I ever told you you’re the single most dramatic person I’ve ever met?” Percy chuckles. “You’ll be fine. Just, you know. You’re stuck in his flat anyway. Make a friend”

_ Make a friend _ . Henry bites on his thumb, and makes another questionable decision.

“Okay, I didn’t plan to tell you this but,” he says, lowering his voice even more, and praying Pez will understand better. “It’s not just  _ a flat _ . It’s Alex’s.”

“Who’s Alex?”

Henry rolls his eyes.

“Alex Claremont-Diaz?”

Pez’s answer is drowned out by a female voice screeching  _ WHAT _ so loudly that Henry’s certain Alex can hear it back in the kitchen.

“Is June there?” he blurts in panic. “Did you put me on speaker?!”

“Henry, are you dicking my brother?” and it is, undoubtedly, June, and she sounds both surprised and unhealthily amused. 

“I’m not-”

“Oh my _fucking_ _god-_ ”

“Technically, he-

“Holy fuck, Hen, nice catch.”

“It just happened, okay?” Henry snaps, a whole lot too loud, cutting the agitation. “In a very drunk way. I mean-” he takes a breath, lowers his voice again. “Can you just get me out?”

“I still cannot,” Pez says, still sounding way too entertained. “But now, oh babe, now I’ll personally pay someone to keep this door locked for a week.”

“Percy, this is not fucking funny-“

“It’s marvellous. And, I’m leaving you to it.”

“Don’t you dare-”

“Oops, can’t hear you over the blizzard!”

“Pez-”, and there’s an empty  _ beep _ , and Henry knows he’s definitely not being helicoptered out. He takes a look out of the tiny bathroom window. Too high to jump. 

  
  
  


❅❅❅

“Okay. Let’s say we pretend we’ve never had sex,” Henry offers, stepping into the kitchen, where Alex is putting their dishes in the sink. “How does that help us survive this?”

Alex looks over his shoulder when he hears him come in, makes a few uncordinated moves of putting the plates back, looking around, finding a cloth, and drying his hands, before stepping up to where Henry’s standing and offering one to him. 

“Hi. I’m Alex.”

Henry shakes it with only a moment of hesitation. Alex's grap is firm an confident, his palm as soft as Henry blurrily remembered, a little dry from the detergent he just used.

“Hi, Alex. I’m Henry.”

“Hi, Henry, it’s very nice to meet you,” Alex smiles at him. “What brought you to New York?”

“Oh, Christ, no,” Henry yanks his hand back as if Alex’s has bitten it, and takes a few steps back. “No, no, no. No. We’re not doing that.”

“Man, what the fuck?” Alex’s eyes grow wide, his arms hang in the air like he forgot he had them. “It was going pretty well?”

“What- No, “ Henry did think about explaining for a flash, but very promptly decides not to do it. He takes a seat by the table again, and hides his face in his hands. “No. Not gonna work.”

After a bit or two, he can hear Alex move the chair, and sit on the other side of the table. There’s a bit of silence, then the sound of a phone being unlocked, some humming. Henry starts to feel ridiculous, just sitting like this, head dug in his shoulders, face in his hands, but he doesn’t quite imagine what else he could do with himself now, and, to be totally honest, he kind of hopes that if he stays like this for long enough, he’s going to subtly disappear.

“We’re talking three to five feet of snow in the entire Tri-State Area,” the voice, which Henry assumes can only come from Alex’s phone, announces. “We are monitoring the situation closely, as the new communication channels continue to shut, seemingly by the minute-”

Henry moves his hands to the sides of his face so he can take a look, stretching the skin around his eyes in a way that must make him look funny, to say at least, and is met with Alex watching him with a very clear disapproval.

“Okay,” Henry says, only because he knows he’s expected to. “Let’s try again. Just, no prying this time, alright?”

“Prying?” Alex snarks. “Dude, that was the single most basic question to ask here.”

“Maybe,” Henry admits, knowing that’s technically true, and shift on his chair to take a little more open position. “I just- I don’t want to hear it, okay?”

“Okay,” Alex says, throwing his hands up, palms to Henry. “I didn’t realise it was a sensitive issue. You ask, then.”

“Me?”

“Yup, you. Show me a non-prying, non-upsetting question.”

“Uh. Okay. Do you…,” Henry tries, desperately searching his head for anything that wan't make him sound like a robot pretending to be a human being, and fails. “Like dogs?”

“I do,” if Alex has any thoughts about his choice of conversation starters, he keeps them to himself. “Never had one, my sister’s allergic. Always wanted one. Do you?”

“I do,” Henry leans back on his chair, aiming to look comfortable. Alex has intertwined his finger on the table and leans forward a bit, demonstrating his willingness to meaningfully participate, and Henry doesn’t want to be any worse. “I have one. A beagle.”

“Cool. What’s his name?”

“David.”

“That’s- uhm,” Alex says, clearly trying his hardest. “A very non-upsetting name. Old-fashioned. Classy.”

“Thanks.” Henry says, and he feels the awkwardness raising with every passing second. Alexis looking at him as he was expecting him to say something, and his brain seems to be full of plush, or cotton candy, or something equally useless. After a second or two of absolute silence, he jumps up and starts to the living room. “Do you have any books?”

  
  
❅❅❅  
  
  


Alex’s living room is so much different that his own, Henry notices later. Henry or Pez both had a natural ability to keep the spaces they’re in fairly tidy, an ability Alex has clearly been spared. Their apartment was filled with Pez’s personal findings, all somehow-modern-yet-still-classy, as opposed to Alex’s blatantly overused Ikea furniture. They kept their place minimalist, white, grey, silver, and navy, and Alex’s had red walls, brown floors, a carpet so stained it is literally impossible to tell what its original colour was, and a yellow sofa Henry’s currently curled up in the corner of, dressed in Alex’s sweatpants and a clean shirt he has been offered, which, he must admit, feels kind of nice. He also has a cup of tea on the table, and a copy of  _ The Christmas Carol  _ in his hand - the fact that Dicken’s most overrated was the only position not related to law or politics he found in here was perhaps the manifestation of his differences that stroke him the most. Henry and Pez had a considerable bookcase in their shared space. Alex didn’t, but he had a plastic table football table, if that’s what it’s called, which looks like it had been stolen from some flashy arcade. 

A table football table that he is very loudly making a use of now, playing against himself, and driving Henry insane with the constant thumps the ball makes every time it reaches a wall.

“Can you please stop?” he eventually barks.

“The service is down, sweetheart,” Alex says, not stopping even for the sake of a smooth dialogue. “There is literally nothing else for me to do, even if I wanted to.”

“Don’t you have school work?”

“Don’t you have basic human decency to not bring it up two days before Christmas, you pretentious heathen?”

Oh, there’s also that. After another attempt on a polite conversation that went just equally terrible, Alex’s attitude gently switched from reserved hospitality to open annoyance (“You know what? Fucking awesome. I feel like I’m getting colonised by listening to your stupid accent anyway.”). They haven’t spoken for the last two hours. 

And that’s fine. Unlike some other people in this room, Henry’s not a twelve year old. He can actually enjoy the time he spends in a comfortable silence with a person he’s stuck with after a one night stand, with no service, and a book he knows by heart and passionately hates. He’s actually kind of, almost having fun. He’s absolutely unbothered by the noise anymore, and about to get back to his super fun read, when he sees a puddle of water growing from behind the bathroom door.

“Alex?”

This time, Alex stops abruptly, and flashes Henry an annoyed glare: “What?”

Henry points his head to the door, and Alex follow his stare, and starts swearing up a storm while running to the bathroom door. The next hour is a huge mess - Henry and Alex run around, trying to find some towels they can use to dry the floor, get on their knees to prevent it from reaching any further, try to stop the flooding that, apparently, comes from the crammed toilet bowl. Alex is rambling about how he accidently bought an unsustainable toilet paper which his toilet is not able to process, and how his toilet basically happens to do this sort of stuff occasionally, and it’s absolutely not Henry’s fault, but actually, maybe this one particular time it  _ is  _ Henry’s fault, and it’s the universe or his grandmother punishing him for being an anti-social, rude dickhead, unable to hold a basic conversation to quite literally save a life, as they fucking well should be. He then proceeds to inform him that he got as much paper out as he could, and Henry could speed it up with the drying as the water won’t be flooding anymore, so they have a fair shut of stopping the humidity at where it is, but, there is no way to unplug the bowl without a plunger. When asked about said plunger, he says he let his buddy borrow it and hasn’t gotten it back yet, and when Henry goes on a tirade about which  _ responsible adult human being  _ agrees to lend a  _ toilet plunger  _ to a buddy who lives in a whole different part of the town, he is being shushed with a “You know, maybe if your only pal wasn’t your literal multimillionaire flatmate, you’d get it.” Which is, obviously, offensive, but also indicates that Alex actually  _ remembers  _ that Henry lives with Pez, so it must mean that he  _ does  _ remember Henry, and that, very humiliatingly, makes Henry feel a little bit better. 

Afterwards, they’re both sitting on the dry floor in the living room, exhausted, and Alex shamelessly stares at Henry, clearly intending to say something.

“What is it?” Henry sighs, disinterested and oh, _so_ over it.

“I just came up with an idea that’s going to make everything better,” Alex promises, and before Henry can say a word, he leaves the room. He comes back with a small silver box, and a pack of cigarette paper. Henry gets the premise.

“Really?” he asks, sitting up straight. “You want to get high?”

Alex tilts his head with a forward “seriously, dude?” expression, and sits back own beside him. 

“Yes, I want to, and this is exactly what I intend to do now, and if I’ll get one more of your judgy stares for it, I’ll lock you in this fucking bathroom, and keep you there until New Year’s.”

“Actually, I think that’s not a terrible idea,” Henry says. “Pot, I mean. Not the bathroom part.”

Alex blinks, looks at his set on the floor, looks back at Henry. 

“Oh. Okay, then. Cool,” there’s a soft smirk on his face, expression bemused, but interested. “I didn’t exactly take you for a smoker. And, before you scold me for presumming-”

“It’s fine,” Henry cuts in, taking a piece of cigarette paper. “I’m not really one. I haven’t smoked since high school.”

“Nice,” Alex nods, getting to his joint. “And. You’ve never smoked with me.”

Henry looks at him, so focused on the roll, curls falling on his forehead, and allows himself a small smile.

“I learnt to live with that hole in my chest,” he says, looking back down.

“God, it better make you funnier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the things are Starting To Happen folks
> 
> ❅ christmas is over but this thing is nowhere close so let me tell you: i will finish it even if i end up listening to christmas songs in april to remind myself how it felt. have y'all watched the movie? it's not a christmas one per se, it takes place somewhere near new year's, so it's still a right time to do it :❅


	4. December 21st, Saturday. All this time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About lying on the floor stoned. Yup, that's it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said i'll finish it and i fucking will
> 
> come get some Explanations

“I’m sorry, you did  _ what _ ?”

Alex is laughing, they both are, have been for a while, since Alex got bored of smoking in silence, and half-casually, half-threateningly announced that he’s going to attempt being a decent host one more time, and he is now going to tell Henry a story about the first time he got high, and Henry better appreciate it. It was back in Texas, first year of high school, after the trials for the lacrosse team. His sister had to smuggle him home so his mother wouldn’t notice. It was a very random piece of personal information to share, but Henry loved all about this, from the way Alex tried his hardest to make it funnier than it actually was, to the way his eyes shined with nostalgia by the end of it. It only felt right to share the story about his first joint, overpaid trashy stuff on his dorm room floor in eighth grade, and they’ve been tossing these semi-embarrassing stories ever since, and each one seems even funnier than the former. Henry has quite a few ideas as to why. 

Henry doesn’t know, nor does he really care, what time it is, but the room grew dark a while ago - which, given that it’s end of December in New York, in the middle of a blizzard, could mean anything from 4pm to 8am. If he were to guess, it’s closer to the prior. Either way, Alex’s living room is only lit up by a, quite extensive, if Henry was to judge, number of one-dollar christmas lights, which makes the space feel unexpectedly cosy. Or maybe it’s just pot. Probably pot. Alex’s christmas playlist is softly humming in the background, and Henry managed to calculate this must mean he has it downloaded, but only smiled to himself at the thought, and refrained from commenting. They’re lying on the floor, both on their backs, staring at the ceiling, and it’s Henry’s turn to be the entertainer, so he goes for the story of how he got so high he lost any sort of sense of time and didn’t realise he has an afternoon class in a minute, so he went to that absolutely smoked.

“High as a kite, mate, eyes so red I looked like I were fucking bleeding,” he says, and his voice breaks into laughter. “My professor was  _ thrilled _ .”

“What did they do?” Alex chuckles out.

“Formally, not a thing,” Henry says, and he takes a deep breath to form a longer sentence. “It was one of those wildly overrated boarding schools where one could probably kill a man on the front yard and walk away unbothered if the board knew they had could pay themself out of it,” he realises that he’s talking a bit too slowly, dragging the words out, but he doesn’t care. It’s all on weed now. “They didn’t even call my parents.”   
  


“What the fuck? Is that even legal?” Alex keep asking, and then adds, as if that was not obvious: “Meaning, in England?”

“Of course it’s not,” Henry admits. “But London reeks of it anyway.”

Alex makes a long, exaggerated sound of realisation and laughs to himself again.“Smells like home, huh?”

“Literally why I haven’t had it since I left,” Henry blurts out, still giggling, before he can think about it. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” there’s a blunt irreverent note in Alex voice now. “Does weed make you homesick?”

“Homesick,” Henry snorts, truly humoured. “The smell is my major PTSD trigger.”

“Woah, that bad?” Alex asked, also clearly humoured, and somewhat intrigued.

  
“No words.”

“And to escape it you came to fucking  _ New York _ ?” Alex laughs, but stops quickly, once he notices that Henry does not join him, but goes silent, his face falling.

“Ah, right,” Alex says, turning his face to look at Henry. “Sorry. I forgot about the no prying thing.”

Henry forgot, too, and now that he is reminded, he cringes at the memory. 

“Look, I am perfectly aware that I overreacted,” he attempts, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “And I apologise.”

“Good,” Alex puffs, and bends his hand in some ungodly angle to smack Henry on the shoulder. “I was just trying to make a conversation.”

“I know. It’s just-” Henry throws in a deep sigh to give the thought a minute to form in his head, not exactly certain what he’s about to say. “Not really a small talk topic, I suppose?” he tries, his eyebrows furrowing, and he forces his head to turn to Alex. “And I was hungover, and on edge already, and I let it take the best of me.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Alex smiles softly, a small, soft movement of lips so close to Henry’s face. The skin around his cheek is fumbled from the angle at which he turned his head. Henry’s melting. “Just, for the record: I really wanted to know. I actually find that super interesting.”

“You did?” Henry more says than asks, shamelessly staring into Alex’s wide blown pupils, his eyes so dark they seem to reflect every single tiny lightbulb in the room.

“I  _ do _ ,” Alex emphasises, and Henry isn’t sure, but it almost seems that he’s staring back. “But I get it if you don’t want to share it.”

“No, it’s not that,” Henry says gently, and realises he means. Those few hours ago it was  _ that _ , it was  _ exactly that _ , but now it’s not - now, that his head feel so much lighter, and Alex is so much kinder to him, and they’re so physically close again, he really wants to share it. There is this distant thought at the back of his head that he would probably share everything Alex would want him to. “It’s just a real bummer,” he says, and draws his eyes from Alex’s face back to the ceiling. A small pause follows, when Henry is considering and gathering his lazily gravitating thoughts, and Alex doesn’t rush him, doesn’t push, which further cements the belief that he  _ should  _ tell him. He takes a deep breath. He will. He’ll get it out, fast, so that this one thing is explained, and they don’t ever have to talk about it again.

“I was 16, certain I was gay, terrified of it, and yet obvious enough for my family to start to notice,” he blurts out, as fast as his stoned brain allows him to, hating the way his voice cracks a little. “My dad seemed to be understanding, so I was bracing myself to come out. And then he died. Pancreatic cancer.”

“Oh, shit. Henry, I am so sorry-”

“My mum shut us all completely after that,” Henry continues, knowing that once he lets himself stop, he’s going to get stuck on it for much longer, and nobody needs that now. “She’s only starting to coming back to her right mind about now. I have a sister who’s always been my friend there, but she was on her first tour then, and got into hard drugs. So, it was just me, my  _ tolerant as he can be, but- _ brother, and my diabolic ultraconservative grandmother.”

“That one?”

Henry’s eyes shoot back to Alex, to see him nodding at the blizzard outside of the window. He cracks an involuntary smile at that. He’s surprised he can do that. 

“Precisely. I got into Oxford, but by the time my finals came the only thing I cared about was getting as physically away from there as I could.”

Alex nods, showing he’s following. “So, New York.”

“Plus, you don’t have an undergrad law programme here, so it took me over the Atlantic, earned me some respect back at home  _ and _ bought me three years. Four, now it appears.”

“Oh, no,” Alex’s brows tie together, indicating he might have just stopped following. “Did you fail?”

“No. I’m-” Henry swallows, looking for a right word for it. “On a gap year.”

“I see,” Alex nods again, but the wrinkle between his eyebrows is still there. “Your fam’s fine with that?”

“They are.”

“That’s wholesome.”

“Cause they think I’m working for a law firm here.”

Alex’s face crumbles into one big wrinkle. Henry hears a bemused hum. 

“Without a law degree?”

“Unpaid?” Henry offers, very uncertain. “Valuable work experience.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“They don’t know that.”

“One, unpaid internships are a capitalist scam. The worst sort. Don’t do that-”

“We established that I do not.”

“Two, what kind of story is that even. What  _ do  _ you do?”

Henry bites the inside of his cheek, shoots a quick glance at Alex who is still attentively watching him, glances back at the ceiling. 

“What if I said that it’s none of your business?”

“I’d say you’re being an ass again, and I’d assume you’re very pathetically spending your days on getting wine drunk and reading Jane Austen?” Alex says, and Henry’s eyes grow wide as he turns them back to him, because there is no way Alex would just guess that.

“You couldn’t possibly-”

“I still don’t get it,” Alex cuts him off, intellectual effort clear on his face. “Why are you spending so much time fixating on not being a lawyer?”

“Because I don’t want to be a lawyer,” Henry says, slightly surprised that wasn’t obvious at this point. 

“Oh, right. Actually, not right, left,  _ wrong _ , hold up,” whatever spins in Alex’s head now, he’s getting defeated by it. “But there are so many other ways of not being a lawyer”

“Oh,” Henry realises. Lack of context. A conversationalist obstacle. “Not for people like me, I’m afraid.”

“You mean, English?”

“Yes. What? No. It’s just, how do I put it without sounding like a total arse,” eyes back on the ceiling. Henry so wishes he was better at maintaining eye contact. “We’re an old family. A royal branch?”

Alex takes a frustrating moment. “So like, a prince?”

“A prince’s third cousin, of sorts” Henry says, and he can hear his voice is soaked in bitterness. “I've been to his wedding, though."  
  
  
"Was is the one when some US diplomat fell into the cake?"  
  
  
"This one exactly."  
  
  
"That man's my hero."

"I imagine. Anyway, this prince's third cousin. And his future lawyer, seventh generation of crown lawyers. The only family allowed to handle Monarchy’s legal issues since William IV.”

“What sort of fucking  _ nepotism _ \- Sorry. I mean, we’re talking literal monarchy, you’re obviously full of shit. But, still. Man.”

“Yeah,” Henry admits, not daring to look at Alex. “So, me being gay was a hard pill. But refusing to study Law would probably strip me of citizenship.”

There’s a small chuckle. “What’s the con, then?”

Henry breaks a small smile. “It’s a bit more complex.”

“Man, I get it,” Henry hears Alex move, and with a corner of his eye he can notice him shift back on his back. There’s a new note in his voice. Henry doesn’t like it. “I grew up half Mexican in fucking Texas. I majored in love-hate relationships with your hometown.”

“Really?”

“No, in government, actually-”

“I mean the hate part. You-”  _ Love Texas _ , Henry wants to say, because that’s what he gathered from Alex’s social media entries. Luckily, he manages to bite his tongue just in time. “Seem pretty positive about Texas.”

“Eh, kinda,” Alex says, and now Henry’s the one to turn his head to watch the speaking. “I mean, you know, it’s home,” Alex shrugs. “It’s, where I grew up. Did lots of cool things. But, it’s where I grew up half-mexican. So, you know. It could be better.”

“I can only imagine,” Henry says, trying to sound supportive. “Growing up gay is hard enough.”

“Oh, I didn’t do that,” Alex just says dismissively. 

“No?” 

“I didn’t grow up gay,” Alex repeats with confusing certainty. “I mean, I probably did, given,” he gestures around chaotically. “Well. But I didn’t know until very recently.”

“Oh,” Henry just says, feeling as if there was a thick wall between him and any information thrown his way. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Alex assures him quickly, still watching the ceiling from under furrowed brows. “It’d probably be better to know, sure, but I’m bisexual. So, the self-closeted misery wasn’t that huge. I just, you know, focused on girls, and no homo-ed guys.”

“Oh.” Henry says again. 

“Yeah.”

Henry watches his face, and is fascinated by the view. Dark curls fell back from his forehead, exposing the sure outline of cheekbones under caramel skin, the sharp cut of his jawline. His dark eyes are raised up high, and in his white t-shirt and the light of the christmas lights, he looks almost angelic. Henry focuses on a song in the background for a second. He knows this one. It’s Sam Smith’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”

The view, however, is disturbed by the lack of a certain spark that was in Alex just a second ago. A part of Henry knows that it’s none of his business, and he shouldn’t ask, but, still: “Are you alright?”

Alex nodds, and tries to smile, before he answers. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks, I am. It’s nothing. Just. You’re literally the fourth person I told this to.”

“Oh,” Henry is willing to kill a man for the slightest improvement to his conversationalist skills. “I’m flattered, really.” Alex chuckles a little, which strikes Henry with thin sense of pride. “How did they take it?”

“Awesome,” Alex answers instantly. “One of them was the guy I hooked up with last week, though. So.” 

“Oh, I’m sure that one didn’t mind,” Henry says to that, and Alex turns his head to look back at him, and raises his eyebrows, and smiles, and this time, it seems genuine. 

“Right. You know who might, though?” Alex says, and his face falls again. “My Catholic dad.”

“Alex, listen-” Henry hurries, even though he doesn’t really know where he’s taking this sentence, but doesn’t get a chance to finish. 

“I mean I’m sure he won’t mind! He’s definitely not this type,” Alex goes on. His eyes lose focus, and Henry realises he’s not exactly talking to him anymore. “He campaigned for gender neutral bathrooms in schools in California. He’s great. So’s my mum. I’m so mad at myself for ever doubting them, but. Everytime I think about telling them I get a gag instinct. It’s fucked up.”

“No,” Henry says quickly, as he turns his entire body towards Alex. “No, no, no, no. It’s perfectly okay. It’s normal that you’re stressed.”

“They never gave me a reason to.”

“Well, the society did,” Henry says, and he’s both too invested in and too high to cringe over how cliche it sounds. “And you can't blame yourself for being fed the narrative that not conforming to heteronormative expectations changes who you are in the eyes of those you care about. And they know that, too.

"See? That's what I'm talking about. They're awesome."

  
"Then I’m sure they’ll get it, Alex," Henry assures him. "It’s a big thing. You should take all the time you need.”

Alex looks at him in silence for a while, but hen he nodds slowly again. “I’m sorry you couldn’t,” he says, and Henry’s heart must have flown all the way up to his throat, because suddenly, he can’t breathe. 

“Oh, I’m years over that,” he lies smoothly, smiling weakly, and Alex smiles back. 

“Thanks, Henry,” he says after a bit. “For listening to that.”

“After what I put you through, it’s nothing.” Henry says, and notices that their faces are very close to each other again. 

“Yeah, thanks for that, too,” Alex’s eyes are fixed on his now, steady, calm, sparkling, mesmerising. “You know, for sharing that with me.”

“Of course,” Henry says, a bit more quiet than he did before. As if involuntarily, he shifts a bit closer to Alex. Alex's lips pout a little, and Henry can swear he heard his breath catching. He knows his brain is working much less sharply than usual, but when he searches for a reason not to lean it and see what happens, he finds none. 

Sam Smith’s voice tunes out, and the air is cut by an unsynchronised chorus of drunken voices, acapella butchering “Deck the Halls”. Henry jumps up and leans back sharply, the way people do after they put their hands into open fire. His heart is racing as he nervously looks around.

Alex, on the other hand, tilts his head to the side, listens attentively. The chorus is drown out by aggressive electric guitar, then the drums, and Alex shoots up, face bright.

“Oh my God, Henry” he says excitedly, running around the room, looking for his phone. “This fucking song.”

Henry sits up to watch him better, feeling ridiculously out of context. “Is that still your Christmas playlist?”

Alex found his phone, and now he turns the song up, aggressively shaking his head to the rhythm. “Dude, this is a fucking bop. What the fuck did you listen to on Christmas 2009?”

“Frank Sinatra memorial, probably?”

“Come on, dance with me,” Alex says, already throwing himself around the room in a terrifying attempt at an imitation of what seems to be disturbingly similar to early 2000s My Chemical Romance. 

“How do you even dance to  _ that _ ?” Henry says, both fascinated and terrified. 

“Come on,” Alex repeats. “Like this.” He puts his hands on Henry’s arms, and Henry shivers at the touch, but them he’s being violently shaken back and forth.

“Did he just say  _ I grab my baseball bat _ ?” Henry chuckles out between the shakes. Alex lets go of him and resumes his chaotic movements, now completely ruining an air guitar. 

“ _ You people scare me _ ,” he screams, timing the shakes of his head with the tugs he gives to his imaginary guitar strings. “ _ Please stay away from my home if you don’t wanna get beat down- _ ”

  
The song breaks into an instrumental and Alex throws his guitar away and his arms up, he moves his hips and shakes his head from one side to the another, making his curls violently fly back and forth. Primary shock starts to leave Henry, and before the second verse starts, he’s laughing with his whole chest, and awkwardly attempts to imitate the way Alex moves. Once Alex notices, Henry gets a loud scream of approval that gets him all in, and they both fully commit to making a real punk rock show out of it, running around without any coordination, jumping on furniture and knee-sliding on the floor.

“ _ I won’t be home”  _ Alex screams to Henry, desperately trying to gesture him into joining. “ _ I won’t be home for Christmas!” _

“ _ I won’t be home” _ , Henry screams back, hoping he’s reading him right, and relieved to hear the frontman sing along. “ _ I won’t be home for Christmas!” _

_ “I won’t be home-”  _ Henry goes one more time, and then he stops abruptly and covers his mouth with his hands because there’s no third time, and the song breaks into instrumental. Alex laughs so loud he almost drowns out the drums, and then the're dancing again - altough Henry's very conflicted about calling it dancing. 

The song tunes out, and they both fall on the couch. In the background, Sinatra’s good old “Let It Snow” starts playing. 

“What the fuck was that?” Henry manages, a bit breathless from unexpected exercise, and Alex starts laughing again.

“My absolute Christmas favourite. A true modern classic.”

“You’re mad,” Henry decides.

“You loved it,” Alex flashes him a wide smile, and all Henry can do is lean his head back on the back of the couch, and laugh. He’s trying to make sense of the position they’re in, but all he knows is that his legs are tangled with Alex’s, and Alex’s hand rests thrown carelessly on his tight. They’re both grinning like little kids after a run. He loves it, but he knows he has to ruin it. 

“Okay, so, now,” he starts after a bit or two, nervous, but sadly aware that he can’t avoid going there forever. “I have a question I would very much like to avoid asking, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Mm, nice,” Alex says. He sits up straight and cross-legged, so that he’s facing Henry. “I’m ready. Go for it.”

Henry really doesn’t want to. He straightens his back and mirrors Alex. “Given our situation, as of now,” He starts, uncertain. “With all the developments of the last twelve hours or so. If one would have a very strong need to make use of a bathroom. Namely, a proper toilet bowl. How could one possibly accomplish that?”

He takes a deep breath, and he waits. 

“Stop fucking smiling.”

Alex very obviously does not make any effort at that.

“That’s actually a great question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hI again, uni's been ruthless but i persisted so here! we! go! this fic is so fun to write folks i had to break what i planned for this chapter into two because it's already long as shit?? hope y'all stuck around despite my determination to lose audience by falling dead for a month and i once again promise it will be finished
> 
> the songs included are obviously 'have yourself a merry little christmas' in sam smith's version, 'i won't be home for christmas' by blink-182, and 'let it snow' in timeless frank sinatra's take, and yes, two people did see me listening to those on spotify on january 20th and they did text me to ask if i'm okay

**Author's Note:**

> hi folks, i only just watched two night stand and i really wanted a romcom retake with those two so. this happened. i planned it for some 7-ish chapters and am very dedicated to finish it but you know how it goes. please leave a comments to keep me motivated, and go watch the movie if you haven't!! it's really good in a semi-trashy-but-very-self-aware way!!


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